


Buckets of Bonnets

by Grenegome



Category: Dresden Files - Jim Butcher
Genre: Alternate Universe - Regency, Crack, F/M, Gen, Kink Meme, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-04-09
Updated: 2012-04-09
Packaged: 2017-11-03 09:07:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,120
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/379676
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Grenegome/pseuds/Grenegome
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The social adventures of Mr Harry Dresden and his bonnet. Otherwise known as ‘Actually Quite Terrible, Not Really a Regency AU’.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Buckets of Bonnets

**Author's Note:**

> Originally written for the Dresden Files Kink Meme.
> 
> As a kindness, I should probably notify unsuspecting readers that this fic is set in ye olde unidentifiablee AUe timee periode, and sensitive historians might want to cover their eyes.

“Mr Vadderung!” I called, leaning out the window of our carriage. I waved my fan to catch his eye, stretching up on tiptoe, and then Lea was clutching at my skirts to stop me toppling out onto the street. “Mr Vadderung!”

Mr Vadderung reigned in his horse and walked it back towards us, smiling as he came. “Now, young fellow, what does it take to have you call me Donar?”

Lea shook out her own fan, and was rather pointed about how she stirred the air with it. “I should say it would take a marriage proposal, Mr Vadderung. Please don’t encourage my godson, sir, his reputation is tattered enough already.”

I huffed, and rearranged my skirts as I settled down besides Lea. “It is not! I have been entirely appropriate for a whole year _at least_.”

“You rode out with Jared Kincaid, unchaperoned-- ”

“Murphy was--”

“--then propositioned the Erlking in his own hall--”

“That’s not--”

“--and punched Gentleman Jonathan in the eye.”

“I never-- ! Oh, very well, that one is _almost_ true.”

“And a fine punch it was too,” Mr Vadderung complimented me. “That’s a very fetching bonnet, Harry. It does lovely things to your eyes.”

“Does it?” I resettled the bonnet on my head, because it had started to slip forward over my face again. “I think it looks a bit fussy, but Lea will insist.”

Lea batted me on the bonnet with her fan. “Mr Vadderung, would you care for tea? Harry seems almost civil in your company, and I’m at a loss for what to do with him. No genteel household has asked him to call in more than a week.”

“I’d be honoured,” Mr Vadderung smiled at us. “May I bring my ward, Sigrun? She’s of an age with Mr Dresden, I fancy they’ll get along famously.”

“Of course,” Lea said. “Five o’clock? Very well.”

 

Gard and I were sitting in the window seat, whilst Lea and Mr Vadderung carried on by the fire. We kept a proper distance from one another, and had a rather limping discussion about the merits of my embroidery and her swordsmanship, until I caught sight of Gard’s grin in the corner of my eye.

“What? What does that mean?” I demanded.

“Oh, nothing,” she said, and it turned into a full smile.

“Well, that’s not _nothing_ ,” I said, “don’t tease.”

She leant over to whisper in my ear. “I heard you gave Mr Marcone a black eye.”

“Well then, you shouldn’t listen to gossip,” I said. “It was a bloody nose.”

Gard threw her head back and laughed, loud and strong, and I rather liked it. “Oh, I half hope Donar doesn’t go for you,” she said. “I could be persuaded to lay suit.”

I flipped open my fan, hiding my smile behind it. Mr Vadderung _was_ here for more than tea, I had thought so. “Why ever do you say that?” I asked.

“I’ve had enough of fellows and girls without spirit, or brain,” she said. “I’ve spent the whole season coaxing milksops out of swoons or in the same tiresome discussion about watercolors.” Gard looked at me again, reached out boldly, and tilted my fan away from my face. “What’s more, you have a pretty mouth... I should like to kiss it.”

I gave us away by gasping, and Lea looked over to find me flushed, with Gard closer than was proper.

“Harry Blackstone Copperfield Dresden, come here this instant!”

She _never_ let me have any fun.

 

Mr Vadderung had invited us to a hunt, in the Erlking’s woods, a week from now. I was almost bursting with excitement by the time Lea retired, and I was sitting up with a candle, writing it all out, before deciding my diary wasn’t an appreciative enough audience. I tiptoed to my bedroom door and peered around it. There was no light showing from Lea’s room, and if I was very quiet I could make out her deep, steady breathing.

I could sneak out. Just for an hour. She’d never know.

I should change into breeches really, for the dash over to Mac’s, but they do cling in some uncomfortable places, and I never look quite right in them. I bundled my skirts up around my knees instead, and dived into side streets every now and again to avoid putting on a show for the night watch. I know the route well, and I know the patrols, because Karrin Murphy is terribly kind when it comes to sharing such details.

Mac’s was a crush of people, because everyone in town knows he sells the best beer and keeps the best house, and tolerates no nonsense. I half thought I wouldn’t make out anyone of my acquaintance, until a familiar voice hailed me.

“If it isn’t pretty little Harry Dresden!” said Kincaid, and I caught sight of him sitting behind a pillar with Murphy. I wove my way over.

“I’ve at least a foot on you sir,” I said, wishing I’d brought a fan to swat him with.

Kincaid patted his knee. “Won’t you take a seat, Harry?”

“Jared,” Murphy frowned. “Don’t be so forward. Here, Harry, you can take mine. Would you like your usual?”

“Oh, yes please,” I said, and slipped into Murphy’s seat. “Hurry back! I’ve something terribly interesting to tell you.”

She nodded, and went over to the bar, and Kincaid laughed at me. “Shall I guess your news, Harry?”

“You couldn’t,” I smiled, even though Kincaid had a terrible habit of winkling secrets out of footmen, scullery maids, and other people who should know better than to trust his smile.

“Oh, couldn’t I? Well. Saying I do guess correctly, what would I win?”

I opened my mouth, about to say something terribly witty when I was interrupted.

“Harry. You’re unchaperoned.”

Gentleman Jonathan Always Where You Don’t Want To See Him Marcone. I scowled. “That’s Mr Dresden to you, I believe. My chaperone is at the bar, so you needn’t concern yourself.”

“Well, if that’s the case, there’s no harm in me stopping for a few words,” Marcone said, and set his glass down.

“Oh, there could be a very great deal of harm,” I said, considering the glass as a projectile weapon. Kincaid laughed.

“I hear you’ve taken up embroidery,” Marcone said, valiantly ignoring Kincaid.

“I don’t care for embroidery,” I returned, and examined my nails as if they were the most fascinating things in the world.

“Well... Pianoforte, perhaps? I know your godmother plays extremely well.”

“No. I do not care for embroidery, or pianoforte, or painting, or any of the thousand other things you have quizzed me on, Mr Marcone. As it happens, I don’t much care for you, either.”

“Well, what the devil _do_ you care for?”

“Watch your mouth!” Murphy shouldered past Marcone, slamming three glasses down on the table with more force than was strictly necessary.

“Oh, calm down the pair of you,” Kincaid grinned. “Everybody knows what Harry likes,” he caught my eye as he said it, and I started to blush, “and it’s not just a romp through the bushes.”

“Now _you_ speak out of turn, sir.” Marcone said, angling himself so that the hilt of his sword was suddenly part of the discussion.

“Oh, I’m no _sir_ , sir!” Kincaid shot back. “What do you say, Harry, should he duel me for your honor?”

I had a sudden vision of being stuck in Hog Hollow for all eternity. “No, indeed. Lea would never let me out to another party in my _life_ ,” I said. “Marcone, if you keep your mouth closed you may stay, if you cannot, I shall have Mr Mac throw you in the street.”

It wasn’t an idle threat. After all, Mac had banned Donald Morgan from the premises for an entire week, even though they were fast friends, because the man simply couldn’t bring himself to be civil to me.

Marcone stole a chair, seated himself, and sat in belligerent silence through my latest news. After Murphy and Kincaid had finished teasing and congratulating me, we returned to Murphy’s ongoing attempts to teach me the rules of poker, and he was silent all through that too.

 

Murphy walked me home, which meant I had a proper chaperone and didn’t have to scurry about for fear of scandal, so we could take our time. We did, chatting idly.

“So what was Kincaid getting at?” Murphy said. “Because he’s right, you must like _something_. Apart from twitting John Marcone, and there’s really no sport in that, Harry.”

“I don’t begin these exchanges, Karrin. He brings them on himself.”

“Well, you rather like finishing them. Go on then, what do you do with all your spare time?”

I looked about us, checking for eavesdroppers. “Promise you shan’t spread it around?” I said. “Lea would be awfully cross.”

“My word as a Murphy, I shall not.”

“Magic,” I whispered, and watched her eyes widen.

“Harry!”

I giggled. “You’re scandalised aren’t you? Oh, is that a blush?”

“Magic! A young fellow, of your station...”

“Well, it’s terribly interesting. I found a book at the farm, and I was curious, and I just happen to be rather good at it. You know, sometimes I think I should forget all this nonsense about finding a good match, and earn my keep through wizardry...”

“Well...” she said, and eyed me again. “I never would have thought.”

 

The hunt came around faster than I thought it might, and I almost had butterflies when I was mounting my horse, making sure my skirts weren’t at a compromising angle. I don’t care for breeches, and I don’t care for sidesaddle, so I simply have to make do. I’d settled, and set about tightening my bonnet, when the Erlking himself rode over to me.

“Little Harry Dresden, why, that’s a pretty dress. Would you ride with me today?”

I stared, looking about for Mr Vadderung, and caught sight of him checking over the hounds. Mr Vadderung smiled, blew me a kiss, and then nodded at the Erlking.

...Well, that looked like his blessing. No hard feelings, I supposed.

I swallowed. “Godmother says I only may if I’m chaperoned.”

The Erlking barked a laugh. “But of course! And pray tell what chaperone should keep up with us? I hear you ride well, Mr Dresden.”

“That would be me,” Murphy said, reigning her horse in beside us. Her horse is a monster, and frankly terrifies me, but it could keep pace with any in Chicagoland.

“Ah,” said the Erlking. “Then let's be off.”

 

As it happened, I lost both my riding partner _and_ my chaperone, and then my bonnet flew off my head and got caught in a tree. I was rather put out, because I liked that bonnet, so I clambered up after it.

I wasn’t alone for long.

“Harry Dresden! What the devil are you doing with all your underthings on show?”

I stared down at John Marcone, and hastily clamped my thighs around the trunk of the tree. “What the devil are _you_ doing looking!”

Marcone walked his horse over, and I realised he couldn’t be looking any longer, because he had his eyes closed. “I’m trying my best not to, as it happens. Can I be of any assistance?”

“I think not,” I said, and then stretched up, almost catching hold of the edge of my bonnet. “You ride like a sack of potatoes, Mr Marcone.”

“Well, you climb like a hippo,” Marcone cut back. I finally caught hold of my bonnet, and flung it down. It bounced off his stupid face.

“Scoundrel!” I said.

Marcone glowered at me, eyes open once more, but still dismounted to retrieve my bonnet before his horse could crush it. “I don’t suppose you’ve caught sight of Nathan Hendricks from up there?”

“Nathan’s out? Nathan _hates_ riding.”

“His father insisted. I’m his chaperone, and he gave me the slip as soon as the horn sounded. Evidently I’m doing as good a job as yours.”

“I’m being rather adequately chaperoned by this tree right now,” I smiled down at him, and then I heard voices, and hooves getting closer. “Nathan! Hello there, Nathan! Oh, goodness, who put you in a pink bonnet?”

Nathan rode into the clearing, on the slowest, steadiest horse in the Erlking’s stable, and smiled up at me. Sigrun Gard rode beside him. “Hello, Harry! My father, he thinks it makes me look approachable. I look a fright. What are you doing up there?”

“You look charming,” I said, “with or without a bonnet, doesn’t he, Ms Gard?” I chose not to answer the question about my arboreal adventures.

“Perfectly,” Gard said. “Though, as I’ve not seen him without a bonnet, I couldn’t compare.”

Hendricks untied the bow, and slipped his bonnet off with a shy smile.

“Oh dear God,” Marcone said. “Can everyone stop casting off items of dress? I’ll never hear the end of it.”

I slid down the tree while he was distracted, and just about made it down to the ground without flashing Gard any ankle, but I could see her smile a time or two. “Tired of hunting foxes, Mr Dresden?” she asked. “Are birds your target now?”

“Bonnets!” I confessed. “They’re rather fast!” I re-settled my skirts. “Oh, drat. I’ve torn the hem.”

“I’ve a needle and thread,” Hendricks offered. “But if I get off this thing I’ll never be able to get back on.”

“Oh, no one will notice,” I said, as I re-mounted, “and I better find our host. Farewell!”

Nathan waved me off. Marcone shouted after me, waving the bonnet I’d abandoned, but I dug my heels in harder. There was no point losing it to another tree.

 

Lea didn’t think that keeping the Erlking company through the hunt, and sitting beside him at his feast, and having several invitations since for tea was quite enough. I had to contend with her trying to coordinate our social engagements for separate events. “The Erlking will be attending Mr Marcone’s Spring ball,” she said, “and you have a standing invitation to all of Marcone’s events. Write and let him know we will attend.”

“But Godmother! I hate Marcone’s balls!”

“Would you have some other fellow fresh from the country catch the Erlking’s eye? Or a city girl? You need to press your advantage.”

We’d had this argument before, but that didn’t stop me. “I shouldn’t have to press anything! If his intentions are serious, he shouldn’t be so easily distracted.”

Lea sighed, and shook her head. “Naive. Write your note, child.”

I scowled, and went to find my lavender scented stationary, because I knew Marcone couldn’t abide the smell.

 

I _hated_ Marcone’s balls. Which is why I hid away in his library, with the magic book I’d bribed Bob, our footman, to sneak in with me. “ _Fuego_ ,” I muttered, waving my hands. “ _Fuego. Fuego_.” I’d been trying this for over a week, and still nothing was happening. “ _Fuego!_ ”

There was a sudden whooshing noise, and right in front my eyes, the curtain caught fire.

“Oh. Bother.” I said.

After a moment’s thought, I raced into the hall, almost knocking over John Always There When You Don’t Want Him Marcone, grabbed a pitcher of flowers, and then raced back.

“Mr Dresden. What the devil are you-- ”

Marcone followed me back to the library, in time to watch me douse his flaming curtains with water and tulips.

“Why, you little devil!” he said. I suppose to him it looked like some bizarre fit of sabotage.

“Sir,” I turned about, smoothed down my hair, and did my best to look like a respectable young fellow rather than an arsonist. “I’d take it as a kindness if you wouldn’t mention this incident to my godmother.”

“How ever did you set them alight?” Marcone asked, looking around for some source of flame.

“I’m sure I couldn’t say. Your word sir, as you are a gentleman, that you’ll not mention this. I should be embarrassed.”

“Oh, that’s a feat that can be achieved, is it? And here I thought you were the Harry Dresden who raced down the street in his petticoats.”

“I was chasing a demon out of the yard! What should I have done, left it to chew on the servants until I finished dressing? And _shame_ on you, thinking on my petticoats.”

“They have written a _song_ about your petticoats, Dresden. I heard it at Mac’s Thursday last. Perhaps your godmother should like to hear that too?”

“Perhaps you should like to wear this pitcher?” I glared at him, and got a wicked smile in return.

“Now, let’s not be hasty. That was a present from my mother.”

I set it down, with slightly more care than I picked it up. It was rather plain, for an heirloom, but that was no cause to smash it. “Your word, sir.”

“You have it, on one condition.” I glared at him. If Marcone asked for a kiss, he’d live to regret it. “Say please.”

I huffed. “Please, Mr Marcone.”

“Now say pretty please.”

“You are a despicable, low down, money grubbing--”

“Ah ah ah, I’d not deny it, but that’s not what I’ve asked to hear, Harry.”

“Don’t call me that!”

“Mr Dresden.”

“Pretty. Please.” I snapped at him.

“With a cherry on top-- ”

“You may stick that cherry up your blackmailing arse!”

“HARRY!” My godmother was standing in the doorway, staring at the pair of us. “What in heaven’s name happened to that curtain? And those flowers? Mr Marcone, I can only apologise, Harry’s a terror without a chaperone, and apparently I’m getting too old to keep up with him.”

“My lady, let me set your mind at ease,” Marcone made a stupid, courtly little bow, graceful in all the ways Lea wished I could be, “the curtains are my fault, Mr Dresden is entirely blameless.”

I deflated a little, righteous wrath deserting me.

“I’m glad to hear it. Nevertheless, the Erlking is _entirely_ enthralled by Mr Ramirez, which is what comes of sulking in the library, Harry. I shall get your coat, and then we shall leave, as you clearly aren’t in any kind of mood to be civil.”

“Oh, hurrah,” I muttered, and Lea turned on her heel.

Marcone watched her go. “Well, have I earned a thank you?”

I retrieved my book while he wasn’t looking. “Hardly. You are a _liar_ , Mr Marcone.”

“You as good as asked me to lie for you!” he snapped. “I can’t fathom why you despise me so thoroughly.”

“The devil you can’t!” I said, my own temper flaring in turn. “You harried me into your coach the first day I stepped foot in town, and then you put it about we were to be engaged!”

“What? That! I thought to save your reputation!”

“Well, then you shouldn’t have hauled me into your coach!” Even Marcone couldn’t be that foolish, surely.

He didn’t concede. “I thought you were a thief. A sensible assumption, as you were sneaking about the town and spying through windows.”

“I was looking for Mac’s!”

“That’s not how a fellow looking for a match behaves. If you had any thought for your reputation in the first place-- ”

“My reputation is doing just fine without you!” I said. “I have had offers, from Mr Vadderung, and from the Erlking, and from Lady Maeve, and-- ”

“Then why are you still sulking around in libraries, unattached?” Marcone demanded, and then pointed at the curtains for good measure, even though they weren’t strictly related to the subject at hand.

It was a reasonable question, given the parties I’d just listed, but I wasn’t in the mood for it. “That’s none of your business.”

“Well? They’re all handsome, rich, of good family.”

“A fellow can look for something more,” I said, and skirted around Marcone. He’d never carry this discussion into the hall.

“More?” Marcone didn’t, he just shouted after me. “Not unless you’ve taken it into your fool head to marry for love! No other... oh.” Marcone trailed off, and I stopped in the doorway. When I looked over my shoulder, he was grinning.

“Don’t you mock me, Mr Marcone,” I said, quietly.

“Mock? Oh, never. It’s terribly sweet. Naive. You _are_ a country boy, aren’t you? Fresh from Missouri, it’s a wonder the city hasn’t eaten you up.”

He stood there in his stupid finery, sneering at me, and I wasn’t having it. “I know plenty of partners who have married for love. My parents, _and_ the Carpenters! Sigrun and Nathan shall too.”

That caught him by surprise. “Nath-- ” Marcone paused. Frowned. “It’s serious, then? Well... at least that explains the poetry.”

“Gard knows how to woo a fellow,” I said. “Unlike some.”

It’s probably fortunate for everyone that we were interrupted right then. My godmother appeared, my coat draped over her arm. “Harry? Bob has brought the carriage round.”

“Coming, Godmother!” I said, and escaped John Marcone and his stupid library and his stupid scowl and his stupid ball.

 

I was, of course, right. Sigrun and Nathan set a date awfully quickly, and their wedding party was the talk of the town. _I_ was one of the first to get my invitation, _and_ I was seated on the wedding table. Apparently I’d gained credit for helping to facilitate the match, though in all honesty, I couldn’t tell you how I’d gone about it.

John Marcone was seated there too.

“They look lovely,” he murmured, which was true, because I’d helped Nathan pick his outfit, and there was no better colour for him than green.

But I have to contradict the things John Marcone says, at least just a little. “They look in _love_ ,” I replied.

Marcone didn’t get his chance to counter. A vampire leapt out of the cake.

 

“Oh dear God!” Marcone said “Any excuse! Dresden, I’ll have to marry you if you take anything else off.”

“As if I’d have you,” I sniffed, tearing strips off my petticoat. “Besides, we can’t use your shirt for bandages, you’ve already bled all over it.”

“Fortunately, I look good in red,” he said, and then choked down on a sound of pain when I pressed the cloth against his wound.

“Don’t fuss,” I said, and that’s when the door we’d barricaded began to shake. “Oh dear.”

“My sword,” Marcone gasped, reaching for the blade he’d dropped on the floor.

“Don’t be an idiot,” I said. “What do you plan to do? Bleed on it? I rather think they take that as encouragement.”

I stood up, re-settled my skirt and my bonnet, and flexed out my fingers. “Sir! This party is by invitation only!” I called to the monster on the other side of the door. “I consider your behavior an insult to a good friend of mine.”

The vampire didn’t listen. He punched a hole through the door instead.

“ _Fuego_ ,” I smiled.

 

Some time later, once the east wing had finished burning down and Mr Vadderung had clapped me on the back in congratulations, and the happy couple had given me a kiss on either cheek, John Marcone came limping over to me.

“So,” he said. “You’ve done it now.”

“Oh yes,” I smiled at him. “No one will have me now.”

“I would,” Marcone said, and then started coughing, lungs still half full of smoke. Eventually, he composed himself. “Harry, that... that was the stupidest, or bravest thing I’ve ever seen. I’m not sure which.”

“Oh, don’t you dare fall upon me now, when I have no options! No, I shall not take you, or Vadderung, or Erlking, or Maeve! I shall work, instead. I have the power, and I can turn it to a profit, and damn my inheritance.”

Marcone was smiling, and it looked honest in a way I’d never seen before. “Your godmother shall never let you hear the end of it.”

“My godmother would like me to be happy,” I said. “...I think.”

“Well then,” Marcone dropped a hand to the belt of his sword and unbuckled it. “I thought you might like a souvenir.”

I tucked my hands behind my back. “I don’t want any gifts from you.”

“It isn’t. You saved my life; it’s a mark of my debt. I intend to earn it back, Mr Dresden.”

“So you should,” I said, taking the weapon. I buckled it over my dress, and I’m sure it ruined the lines of the material, but I didn’t much care. Marcone watched me, and didn’t offer to help even when I fumbled the buckle. I smiled. “You may call on me in future, Mr Marcone, once I have set up shop. I shall forward you the address.”

With that, I walked away from Midgard Mansion, and set about planning for my future.


End file.
